


Evening Comes

by nectarimperial



Category: Tales of Zestiria
Genre: M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Post-Game(s), Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-24
Updated: 2015-12-24
Packaged: 2018-05-08 22:55:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5516315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nectarimperial/pseuds/nectarimperial
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“How much? How much did you miss me?” </p>
<p>Because seven-hundred years is a long time to wait.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Evening Comes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [healing](https://archiveofourown.org/users/healing/gifts).



> ...........SO FUN FACT. I HAD YOU TOO! aaaaayyyyyy lmao. sorry this is later than i wanted, there was a million things going on this month wehhh.
> 
> BUT MERRY CHRISTMAS! you're such a wonderful person, you deserve it! i hope this lives up to all your suremiku smut ideas c: !!!! <3

It had been nearly _impossible_ to make it back to Elysia.

From the moment Sorey had pulled Mikleo up from that chasm, it had been a frenzy of emotions—happiness, anger, even _disbelief_. The way Mikleo looked at him, no, _through him_ , as if Sorey hadn’t been real, and it was only his apparition standing in front of him, arms outstretched. And after the wave of tears and whispers of _I missed you, I missed you_ in hushed voices as they made their way out of the temple, there was something else, something primal that seemed to swallow them whole.

And it had taken every ounce of strength in Sorey’s body not to defile the walls of the temple right then and there, but he’s glad he waited. He’s glad he waited because after seven-hundred years, Mikleo had kept the spirit of Elysia alive, protected under his domain, and his home—no, their home—still the same. Well, there’d been some expansions and additions, but the feeling, the memory of all the times they’d shared together remained the same.   
  
They’d slipped in at night, laughing and kissing like they were seventeen not seven-hundred, and by the time they’d made it inside, Sorey’s mouth is on Mikleo’s, hands desperately pulling and tugging at clothing.

Mikleo laughs, soft lips tittering against his own, tongue darting out to grace Sorey’s lower lip. “You aren’t wasting much time, _Shepherd,_ ” he says, moving to kiss a line across Sorey’s jaw. His voice is teasing, with a lilt to his words that’s so distinctly _Mikleo_ , it makes Sorey wonder how he managed all this time without the seraph he’d grown up with by his side.

“You aren’t resisting,” Sorey breathes, laughing, managing to unfasten Mikleo’s overcoat and push it off his shoulders, his outfit much easier to remove without the belts at his waist. Sorey stops for a second, breath caught in the back of his throat. Mikleo’s standing in front of him in his black undershirt, pants already unbuttoned, bangs framing his face.

Mikleo stops and pulls back, pushing his hair from his eyes, circlet glittering in the dying light of the bedroom, “What is it?” he asks, leaning over to nip at Sorey’s jaw.

“You never stop being beautiful,” Sorey exhales. Mikleo chuckles, pushing Sorey against his chest, and he falls against the soft down of the comforter. Crossing his arms over his torso, Mikleo tosses his shirt to the side and drops onto the bed, one leg on either side of Sorey. His long ponytail hangs over one of his bare shoulders and he looks down at Sorey with half-lidded eyes, desire burning fierce in the lilac of his irises.

Mikleo unbuttons the top button of Sorey’s shirt, then the second, _then_ the third taking as much time as possible, grinding his erection into Sorey, slowly and deliberately, rolling his hips just enough to spike the lust surging through Sorey’s body, and just when he’s at the last button, he leans over, licking his lips and whispers, “It’s been _seven-hundred years_.”

And suddenly, there’s no longer any inhibition. There’s no apprehension, there’s no hesitation lying on the bed they shared as teenagers and it occurs to Sorey the only thing that’s stopping them is the clothes on their bodies. Nothing is holding them back but the man-made garments they drape themselves in, and Sorey’s sitting up, touching Mikleo’s skin, soft and pale like it had always been. Like it had been the first time. Like it had been the last time he’d kissed Mikleo lips and touched his cheek and promised he’d come back.

“I missed you,” Sorey says, teeth tearing at Mikleo’s lips and tongue, and Mikleo smirks against him, dragging his nails across the muscles of Sorey’s back in long, precise sweeps, reveling in the raised flesh underneath his fingertips. 

They stay locked like that until Sorey’s tired of not being able to enjoy _all_ of Mikleo, all of his one and only, all of the seraph that completed him in body, mind and spirit. He flips their positions, pressing Mikleo beneath him, long hair splayed across the pillows in light streaks of white frosted with blue. He isn’t surprised, only looks up at Sorey with all the trust and love in the world of someone that had been his companion since the day he was born and whispers:

“How much? How much did you miss me?”

Sorey responds by kissing across his jawline, down his neck, under his collarbone, tracing the lines and shapes of his chest—broader now than it had been when they were young—with the tip of his tongue, taking in every inch of his body. Every inch of the body he grew up knowing, grew up loving, re-learning every inch of the body that had become unfamiliar to him, laden with long years of the time they’d spent apart. 

He trails his lips down Mikleo’s waist and stops at the sharp angle of his hips, peaking out over the top if his pants, and dips his fingers into his beltloops pulling them down over the slender curve of Mikleo’s thighs. And it’s only then, only when he has Mikleo naked underneath him, still as breathtaking as he was their first time that Sorey says, “I missed you like a Shepherd misses his guiding light. Without you, there’s only darkness.”

Without any further preamble, Sorey wraps his lips around Mikleo’s cock and slides his entire length to the back of his throat, and the only thoughts running through his head are _pleasing_ Mikleo, showing Mikleo how much he missed him, how much he still wanted him. Mikleo’s hands are in Sorey’s hair, pulling and tugging against his brown locks, hair grown long from his time sleeping, regenerating the blessing. Long like that of a seven-hundred-year-old Seraph that had earned his place among the divine not by birth, but by his choices, his purity of heart a greater benediction than even a Grand Seraphim. 

“I’m here now,” Mikleo says and gives a sharp tug on the roots of Sorey’s hair and Sorey smiles, pulling back to dart his tongue across the head of Mikleo’s shaft, swirling and teasing, lapping every bit of precum that spills across his lips. His other hand is wrapped around the base of Mikleo’s cock, pulling desperate keening sounds with each stroke, his own desires surging through his body with every and every moan that spills from Mikleo’s lips.  
  
He knows Mikleo isn’t going to last much longer, not with the whimpers and frenzied pleadings coming from above him. Not with the hushed whispers of ‘ _Sorey, please, I love you,’_ that he hears over and over as he runs his tongue along the base of his cock, savoring every moment that he had Mikleo like this. Savoring every delicious drop of desire that coats every word and cry from Mikleo’s lips, head thrown back into the pillows, other arm hiding his face. 

And without warning, Mikleo bucks his hips forward, cumming into Sorey’s mouth, length buried deep in the back of Sorey’s throat, moaning loud and without abandon, echoing off the walls of the room. He gives one final tug to Sorey’s hair before relaxing, body melting into the shape of the bed and Sorey pulls back, licking his bottom lip.  
  
“You’re beautiful,” he says again, breath running across Mikleo’s skin, tracing lines and patterns across his hipbone. It makes Mikleo squirm.   
  
“Stop,” he breathes, half-heartedly pushing Sorey’s face, “I’m sensitive afterwards.”  
  
“I know,” Sorey murmurs, pulling himself up onto his hands, leaning over Mikleo to whisper in his ear, licking his lips again before he says, “ _I remember_ , Mikleo.” And there isn’t anything Mikleo can do as Sorey flips him over onto his stomach, running his fingernails down the shape of his spine, digging and applying pressure in all, _all_ the perfect places.   
  
“I’ve always loved that about you,” Sorey purrs, grinning, trailing his fingertips along the slender incline of Mikleo’s waist, hand wrapping around Mikleo’s hips, pulling him to kneel. He’s sure that Mikleo can feel his breath, can sense him shuddering and quivering with each inhale, each exhale of Sorey’s breath running across his skin, full of the need aching deep inside him.   
  
Sorey knows he can probably get him to cum again. He can probably get Mikleo desperate and wrecked, hands twisted in the sheets as he groans Sorey’s name over and over again, begging for him to continue. And that’s exactly what he wants because there’s no greater treasure on the planet than the one that’s already in front of him.   
  
Leaning over, Sorey darts his tongue out and pushes through the tight ring of muscle, dipping, tasting, lapping at Mikleo. Drinking in everything he missed, everything he ever wanted, everything that he’d loved fully and wholly all these years, as if Mikleo were the only thing that made Sorey complete. 

And he loved Mikleo’s desperation. He loved the throaty cries that came from Mikleo’s lips, he loved the way his knees buckled underneath the pleasure, he loved the way that Mikleo collapsed onto his forearms, trying desperately to pick himself back up while simultaneously bucking his hips backward, forcing Sorey’s tongue deeper inside of him.

He loved everything about him.

Sorey’s hands are around Mikleo’s hips, fingers pressed hard enough to bruise. He can’t get enough of the cries coming from his Mikleo’s lips and the shivers that run up and down his spine until Mikleo finally collapses, falling against the sheets on his knees, groaning Sorey’s name over and over in between all the things he wanted to do to Sorey as if it were a confessional, like a cry for absolution. 

Pulling back, Sorey fights the smile on his lips, looking at Mikleo through his vision clouded with carnality. Mikleo’s breathing heavy, chest rising and falling with shallow gasps for air, skin sweat-soaked and slicked with the weight of his salvation and Sorey reaches a hand out, pushing Mikleo’s bangs from his vision and kisses his circlet.   
  
“You’re beautiful,” he says again, and the flush across Mikleo’s cheek is one of the most breathtaking sights he’s ever seen. It’s been seven-hundred years and he still makes his stomach turn and his heart thump like he’s young again, still enchanted and fascinated with the idea of knowing another person better than he knew himself.   
  
With a long sigh, Mikleo picks himself up, stumbling on his forearms, until he’s sitting back on his calves and pulls his hair from the tie, letting it cascade over his bare shoulders, raised by his protruding collarbone. “I need you,” he says, voice low and calculating and it catches Sorey off guard.

It isn’t the Mikleo he remembers. 

But it’s the Mikleo he knows now. Driven by his passion, completely surrendered to abandon, carrying the weight of their dream on his shoulders alone. His white hair falls over one side as he wraps his thighs around Sorey’s waist and looks at him in the eyes, resuming the position they were in before. _He’s_ in control now. It isn’t Sorey.

And now, it’s Sorey who’s in submission. It’s Sorey that’s at the mercy of Mikleo and the hair on the back of his neck stands up. It isn’t something he’s used to.

But not something he’s opposed to. 

Leaning over him, Mikleo presses their bodies together, grinding his hips and ass against Sorey’s erection, looking down on him with a kind of adoration that Sorey’s only ever known when he’s with the other, his one and only.   
  
“I want to feel you inside of me,” Mikleo whispers, his long hair falling over one shoulder, tickling Sorey’s skin. “I don’t want to know where I end and you begin.” He says, leaning over to capture Sorey’s lips in his own. Sorey’s sure they taste like Mikleo, but Mikleo doesn’t seem to mind, running his tongue over every available surface, drunk on the moment.

Sorey doesn’t have a chance to reply. Mikleo’s already leaning over, reaching into a drawer at the bedside table, procuring a glass bottle marked at the bottom with the guild that crafted the item, and slicking his own fingers before reaching in between his legs. He intended to make Sorey watch every moment he stretched himself to take Sorey completely and entirely, leaning back just enough for him to see. Sorey watched as he slid one, two, _three_ fingers inside himself, moaning and gasping the entire time, his brow furrowed and his hair pressed to his temples.   
  
“Are you sure?” Sorey asks.  
  
Mikleo nods, “I’ve never wanted anything more,” he says, lowering himself onto Sorey’s cock, biting the corner of his lip as he eases his body onto Sorey’s length, tightly gripping Sorey’s hips with his thighs.   
  
And Sorey almost forgot how much he missed him. Just, how much he’d missed him. How much he missed the way he moved and twisted inside of Mikleo. For the first time since he’d grabbed Mikleo’s hand at the temple, they were truly one. They were reunited. They were reunited in body, mind, spirit and _flesh,_ their desires beginning where the other’s ended. 

Grasping the tops of Mikleo’s hips, Sorey holds him firmly in place as he thrusts up, driving as deep as he can into Mikleo, feeling everything he had to give. There isn’t any part of Mikleo’s body that Sorey doesn’t want to fully and completely explore, and the flush spreading across Mikleo’s cheeks down to his neck gives him all the validation he needs.   
  
It’s hard for Mikleo to stay upright. A few moments ago he was in control, but now he’s reduced to his own desire, trying his hardest to focus long enough on the situation to maintain some semblance of decorum. He leans forward, pressing his hands into Sorey’s chest, changing the angle and driving himself deeper and deeper and _deeper_ onto Sorey until it’s the only thing he can feel.   
  
Sorey looks up at Mikleo, taking one hand from his hip, brushing white hair from his lust-clouded vision, corners welled up with the tears of everything he wanted to say. Sorey doesn’t comment, only locks their eyes together until the pleasure is too much for to bear and Mikleo’s collapsing against Sorey’s chest, burying his face in the crook of Sorey’s neck repeating, “I love you, I love you. I missed you more than you’ll ever know.”

“I know,” Sorey says into the darkness, “I love you, too,” he continues running his fingers through Mikleo’s hair as he moves inside of him, and he isn’t sure if it’s his own sweat or Mikleo’s tears that he feels against his neck, but he doesn’t mind either way and thrusts up into Mikleo’s hips until he cums inside of him, Mikleo’s name heavy with desire on his lips. Mikleo follows, over-sensitized to the friction between their bodies, releasing with a long groan, finally collapsing on top of him.  
  
They lay there for a quiet moment, a comfortable quiet settling over the room, nothing but the sound of their labored breaths and the clock on the back wall _tick, tick, tock_ -ing with every counting second. Sorey thinks to himself that this moment could last until the end of the world itself and it still wouldn’t be long enough. Eventually Mikleo pulls himself up and untangles their limbs, rolling over at Sorey’s side.   
  
He gives a small chuckle, “I’m surprised we made it back here.”  
  
Sorey grins wide and nudges him in the side, “I had to, with all those noises you make.”  
  
A younger Mikleo might’ve argued, but the Mikleo now only laughs and curls into Sorey’s side, burying his face into his side, “Welcome home, Sorey.”

Sorey smiles and wraps his arm around Mikleo, tugging him as close to his body as he can, burying his face in the soft tresses of his hair, “I’m glad to be back.”

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading!!


End file.
